


Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!

by theflyingpeach



Series: The Horror Of Our Love [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz is pining, Blood, Companion Piece, M/M, baz is emo, baz r u ok, baz thinks in victorian nursery rhymes, brief mention of nudity but not descriptive, peak pining, really like you have to use your imagination, slutpire on the loose, we just cant. reign. these. sluts. IN!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingpeach/pseuds/theflyingpeach
Summary: Simon is experiencing his full moon transformation, this is Baz's perspective.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: The Horror Of Our Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715464
Comments: 20
Kudos: 98





	Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!

**Author's Note:**

> this is baz's side of simon's full moon experience
> 
> read that here-> [twilight, again. another ending.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137438/chapters/57205987)
> 
> hope u enjoy :^)
> 
> thank you much to Adamarks for beta-ing! <3

I rub red lipstick over my lips with my fingertips. ( _Midnight Kiss,_ shade six.)

I smear the red with my palm over my chin, my neck...will it run like this when our lips touch again?

The record player skips, and in between I hear my wolf sing. I’ve been drunk all night on too much blood and his howling. 

_Simon, my love, can you feel me?_

I cross the hall to your door. You go quiet. I hear you sniffing. _How does such thin wood hold you back? You huff and puff and still— nothing._

I turn and sink to the ground. You shuffle closer. _Thump_. The door shakes. I hear you panting and, underneath that, a high pitched plea.

_Do you know the difference between a hungry man and a broken beast?_

I've spent too many nights sitting on the other side; I want to finally be in the cage with you. What would you do with me? Pin me to the floor with my neck in your jaw? _Squeeze?_

_My, my, what big teeth we have._

_All the better to eat people with._

The moon makes us want certain unsavory things, doesn't it? Or maybe that's just you. I don't think I can blame the moon.

_Do you know what humans look like when they die? They kick like rabbits, until they don’t._

I’m drinking straight from the blood bag tonight, and I fill my mouth faster than I can swallow. It runs over my lips, down my chest. Dark red, like black. It pools at my stomach.

You bark and dig at the door. _Hungry? Want a treat? Simon, I don't want the blood: it wants me._

I dip my finger into my belly button, swirl the blood, and paint it down my navel, even lower—

_Will it be your blood that I spill the next time we kiss? Will it be your throat under my teeth? Will I squeeze?_

You're growling.

I growl back.

“Are you like me?” I ask, because I want you to be.

You stop growling and howl again. I howl with you.

A woman (what's her name?) at the end of the hall opens her door, cursing. She pauses to look at me and then, "You're naked!" she shrieks.

I raise my blood bag to the sky. _Cheers!_

"I'm calling the police!"

"No you're not," I tell her calmly. She stops mid-retreat. "You're going to go back to bed and forget you saw me."

Her eyes are empty. Her eyes are mine.

"Tell me you understand." 

"I do." She says.

"Goodnight, then, dearie."

"Goodnight." She goes inside and shuts her door. Simon, you've been barking incessantly. 

"Quiet, my sweet. It's just us now." I say, turning my face to you. 

_Bang._ A crack forms in the door.

"Have I got you all worked up?"

You whine. I lick my fingers. _O-, not my favourite._

We finally fall into a steady silence. It's the first time you've been this quiet during a full moon, since I've known you. _Just one night left._

_I used to spend all my nights lost under your moon. It doesn’t speak to me the way it speaks to you. For every sunset came the promise of shadow and in that: death._

The blood is drying on my skin.

“Simon.” I say.

You scratch once. Twice.

_If you could dig a hole inside me, how deep would it be?_

“You’re rare." A wolf without a pack, a man without a home, and yet we keep living.

_Could you dig a hole inside me? You already have. It’s six feet deep._


End file.
